You’ve driven your daddy a bit crazy today, haven’t you? Because you haven’t done what he’s asked all day long and now he’s started to get a bit fed up.

You haven’t been ignoring him on purpose, though. I know that. You’re just too busy being two years, eleven months and 29 days old to listen. And besides, making sure Baby Annabell is snuggly tucked up in bed is far more important than putting your socks on like daddy told you.

Daddy just gets a bit frustrated sometimes with your ‘la-la brain’, as he calls it. Like earlier this afternoon when he asked you to pick up your toys but you just carried on gibbering on about Princess Belle and Gaston and The Beast and Princess Belle’s daddy’s house. You were a million miles away.

Daddy asked you to JUST LISTEN and PLEASE DO WHAT I’VE ASKED. But you didn’t. It wasn’t that you weren’t listening, necessarily, it was just that the fun you were having in your imagination was far too loud and exciting for you to hear anything else. So you just carried on doing what you were doing and singing your sweet little song about Beauty and the Beast…

Mummy picked the toys up anyway, so daddy never did pop into a miserable-pants shower. Mummy may have had a sneaky giggle at angry daddy tripping over the My Little Pony with cherries on her bum, but we’ll keep that secret between us.

You make me laugh so much. You’re just like me in so many ways. You’re going to be much taller and more sociable, I can see that already, but when I look at you, I can see a million memories of my younger mind.

You’re completely off with the fairies, just like I was when I was younger. You remind me of being fun and naughty and care free; always dreaming and thinking and wishing, making up stories about silly friends that don’t exist and magical lands far, far away.

You’re a much nicer child than I ever was, though. I could never have boasted of such brilliant emotional intelligence: I could be bullish and selfish, but never you. You’re always worried when people are sad and ask why. You miss each and every one of your family when they’re not with you, and you are at you’re happiest when we’re all together. You love your uvvah granny, my mummy in heaven with all of your heart. You are so absolutely devastated that she’s gone, even though you never had the chance to meet her. I love you forever for loving her, talking about her and keeping her a special part of our lovely family.

Oh Livvy, you have the most appalling voice I have ever heard, but that doesn’t stop you belting out the all-time nursery rhyme greats whilst dancing and playing in the garden. Your love of life is infectious.

You’re bonkers. You ask the most nonsensical questions about every Cbeebies character: what pets they have and what their daddies do. And you’ll happily tell the world and his employer when you need a big-poo big-poo.

Today, I am most proud of your beautiful sensitivity and love for the world around you. But for tomorrow, that is also what scares me the most: as you get older, you’re never going to want to stay in one place. Because you love the world and everything that comes with it. You love the sunshine, clouds and rain and running and dancing and meeting new people and seeing new places.

You always want the window open and the music on. You embrace the whole universe and everything it has to offer.

You’re going to be a traveller, I can see that, even though you’re not even three for another 4 hours yet. You’re not bothered by things and stuff and routine. You want to see and touch and smell everything around you and to make everyone happy and better.

My heart aches at the very thought of you ever leaving and I miss you already. I know it’s a long way off, but you are three tomorrow. I’m still recovering from your birth! Those three years have rocketed by but my mind hasn’t caught up.

You are the absolute vision of happiness and security and I hope that is just a part of fabulous you, today and forever.

And so, on this evening before you embark on your threenage year, know how much I love you. Twoberty has had its ups and downs, but we got through it, shit-bombs and all.

You’re brilliant and you’re continuing to make our family so happy. We all adore you.

But anyway, just one thing: you’re three tomorrow. A big girl. So please no more pooing in Waitrose car park? Bagging up and chauffeuring your warm waste in the passenger seat was definitely a personal low-point.